You are straining for one last rep on the incline bench when Wifey walks in. She is wearing high heels, a short skirt, a blouse unbuttoned over a tight top cut low with tons of tantalizing tanned cleavage.
She walks across the room, her back to you. Her skirt swishes as she sashays and you catch little glimpses of the very bottom of her ass. Is she wearing panties? You can’t see any.
She stops and turns to look at you in the full-length mirror. Her hips are cocked, heavy eye makeup, red lipstick. She shrugs out of the blouse and tosses it in the floor. She runs her fingers through her long hair, swinging it around, then tying it up off her neck. She surprises you by pulling her top down, exposing her large breasts to you in the mirror. She hooks the fabric underneath her boobs which jut out, perky and huge. Her nipples are brown from the sun and big, standing at attention.
She walks over to one of the pieces of equipment and leans over it, her skirt riding way up. She turns to look at you, still bent over, and hitches her skirt all the way up to her tiny waist. A nearly transparent pair of panties are flossed into the crack of her ass. She smacks her right cheek hard, the sound audible even over the pounding music. She gropes her breast as it swings back and forth like a meaty pendulum. She tweaks the nipple, pulling on it. “Come over here,” she says in a quiet, husky voice.
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